


Honour Among Thieves

by Ina MacAllan (inamac)



Category: Garrison's Gorillas
Genre: Action/Adventure, Gen, WWII, historical RPF - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1998-06-15
Updated: 1998-06-15
Packaged: 2017-10-15 01:20:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/155524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inamac/pseuds/Ina%20MacAllan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A mission in Paris finds Actor involved with an old friend, and Chief in serious trouble. (So business as usual, then.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Honour Among Thieves

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note: This was written for **Gorilla Warfare** a _Garrison's Gorillas_ fanzine produced in 1998 by Green Dragon Press (UK). The story follows the series in including untranslated non-English languages (which should be obvious in context), historical characters, and period settings and language. Do not read if you would find any of these offensive.

# Honour Among Thieves

  


By Ina McAllan

The thief watched as the man in the medal-bedecked uniform of a German Grand Admiral strode purposefully across the hallway and adjusted his own pace to ensure that they would both arrive in the narrow doorway simultaneously. It worked perfectly. There was the briefest of contacts before he stepped aside, saluted with just the right air of nervous deference, and started to back away, muttering "Pardon, Herr Grossadmiral."

The officer gave a brief nod of acknowledgement and made to pass on into the room. The thief had barely time to catch a relieved breath when a gloved hand reached out to clamp with bruising force on his wrist, making him drop the pocket watch which he had so expertly purloined as he was dragged into the room in the Admiral's wake.

"A chimpanzee could do better than that, Goniff. And your accent is execrable."

Goniff extracted his hand from Actor's grip and shook it experimentally. "Blimey mate, if you break my arm you can effing well dip this geezer yourself. An' my accent is fine. It's you lot what can't speak the King's English proper." His gaze took in the other occupants of the room; Chief, sprawled sideways in an easy chair with his legs draped over the arm and Casino, feigning interest in the game of Solitaire spread out in front of him on the table. Neither of them rose to this bait. He shrugged. "Anyway, this bloke won't be expecting it."

"Assume that he will," said Garrison, pausing to pick up the dropped watch as he entered the room. "You'll only get one chance, Goniff. If you can't do it we'll have to try something else."

"Did I say I couldn't do it?" Goniff took a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and extracted one. "Got a light, Actor?"

The tall man finished unbuttoning the tight uniform collar and reached into his jacket - then stopped short before his hand could complete the manoeuvre. He grinned. "On no. Not my lighter. You were supposed to be after the watch."

"This one?" asked the thief, with an air of innocence, producing a wristwatch from his left pocket while he lit the cigarette with the purloined lighter. Casino glanced up from his game, looked at his own wrist, and lunged across the table to reclaim his property with a yell of outrage.

Garrison hid a smile, saying, with a note of resignation, "All right, what else did you take?"

In response, Goniff produced a second pack of cigarettes, also Casino's, Actor's notebook, pen and pipe, and Garrison's wallet. The four of them contemplated the pile for a moment, then Garrison looked across at Chief, who had been watching the proceedings with his usual air of detachment. He caught the look, slipped a knife from his wrist-sheath and flipped it in his fingers for emphasis. "Didn't come near me, Warden," he said.

Garrison, who had enough faith in Goniff's skills to have expected to see at least one of the blades the Indian usually carried among the haul on the table, looked faintly disappointed.

"Chief?" said Goniff, reaching into his jacket. "Oh yeah, I forgot." He produced a gold chain and medallion and tossed it across the room. Chief caught it one-handed, with an expression that was combined of equal parts fury, admiration and amusement. Then he swung his feet down from the chair arm and crossed the room to join the others.

"Misdirection," said Actor, redistributing his property about his person. "Very good, but you still don't have the watch."

"This?" Goniff tossed the object in question so that it caught the faceted light from the leaded window, then back-handed it to Garrison. "Told you, piece of cake. So, what's it all about, Warden?"

Garrison dropped the watch, together with the document case he had been carrying, onto the table and extracted a set of photographs and a small, jewelled object. He separated out a close-up of a face that they had all seen on the newsreels. "He is what it's all about. Admiral Dönitz is responsible for the deployment of the German U-Boats in the North Atlantic. He approves and signs all fleet movement orders and seals them. With his personal seal. Which he keeps on his watch-chain. And which you, Goniff, are going to exchange for this one."

Actor picked up the gold and gemstone set seal, took out a jeweller's loupe, and examined it minutely. He set it down again with a gesture of contempt. "This is a very obvious forgery. It would never fool the Kriegsmarine commanders, Lieutenant."

Garrison smiled, acknowledging the conman's expertise. "That's the point. We can't get at the documents after they've been sealed. But if we can cast doubt on their authenticity the German fleet could be tied up for days working out whether their orders can be trusted. By the time they've figured that it's the seal that's the fake, and not the orders, it should be too late."

Casino grinned. "An' we sail right in an' bomb them out of the water. I like this caper, Warden."

Actor was not so confident. "We're going to have to con our way into Berlin?" he asked, dubiously. "We're likely to get bombed by our own side long before we get near Kriegsmarine HQ."

Garrison shook his head, separated out a map from the scattered documents on the table and spread out a street plan that was all too familiar to Actor. "Not Berlin. Dönitz has his HQ in Paris. A commandeered building on the Left Bank. Here."

Actor leaned over Garrison's shoulder, his pipe forgotten in his hand as he surveyed the map. "You know, Warden, I think for once I agree with Casino. I'm going to like this caper."

+++

A piece of cake, Goniff had called it, confident of his skill as a pickpocket, and maybe he was right about the caper itself, but while getting into the Grand Admiral's pocket might be easy, getting into his Headquarters was definitely not that simple.

And it was increasingly unlikely that they would ever get that close to Dönitz.

Their aircraft had been spotted almost as soon as they'd crossed the German defence lines and their pilot was currently wresting with a failing engine, a broken fuel-line, and two Luftwaffe fighters.

So far it was a fairly routine drop.

Goniff gripped the Y stanchion so hard that his knuckles showed white, riding each lurch of the aircraft with the agility of someone who had spent most of his childhood travelling the London Underground. He was not the only one of the team wishing that they'd landed by boat.

Up in the cockpit Garrison was crouched with a pocket torch over a silk map of central France. The pilot, having momentarily shaken off the opposition by dint of some superb, if stomach-churning, flying, glanced back over his shoulder. "Sorry, Lieutenant. We're not gonna make your target. If I take 'er up to ten thou there's a chance we can use the cloud cover to get back over the Channel before we lose this friggin engine."

Garrison moved forward to peer down at the landscape below, little more than grey patches on black, trees, fields and, possibly, towns under curfew and blackout. They were less than a hundred miles from their target. It felt like defeat to turn back now.

Nevertheless, he was about to give his agreement when a shape below caught his eye; a paler blot on the grey canvas and, moving in it, a flash of red light.

A campfire? No, it came again, still below them but off to the left this time. A few seconds later he recognised it. Fire, yes, but not smoke. Steam. Two thousand feet below them a steam engine was making its way into the heart of Occupied France.

Garrison tapped the pilot on the shoulder and shouted above the sound of the labouring engines: "You take her home. We'll get a ride from here."

+++

As he fell through the freezing air, Goniff reflected that the worst thing about parachuting into enemy territory was the problem of hitting the right target. At least landing by boat usually meant that their contacts were waiting at the landing site, and the worst they could expect was a soaking. Dropping out of an aircraft invariably meant that somebody landed either in a patch of thistles or a cowpat and this time, judging by the muffled curse emanating from beneath an enveloping billow of tangled black silk, Casino had hit both.

Garrison appeared out of the darkness as he reeled his own chute in. "Down safe?" he mouthed, inaudibly, acknowledging Goniff's nod with a brief touch to his shoulder before moving off to assist Casino. Chief arrived with his own chute and harness already bundled into an impossibly small parcel and waited while Goniff tied the last knot in his own before picking up both and vanishing into the surrounding woodland. Even if the Germans had seen them land there was no chance that they would ever find the 'chutes once Chief had disposed of them.

Goniff drew his pistol, glanced around to ascertain where Actor was, and moved to cover the other half of the clearing. They had been down for less than ten minutes and, apart from Casino's muffled curse, no-one had spoken a word.

The cloud cover which had concealed their transport also obscured the moon and made movement through the curfewed countryside difficult. It was with relief that they finally left the fields of young cabbages and beet behind and emerged in a narrow lane above a small village.

As in England most of the road and town signs had been removed or obscured in an attempt to thwart any enemy activity, but there were always ways of identifying places. In this case they did not even need to ask the locals. The churchyard on the edge of the village held the impressive mausoleum of the _famille_ Moleux, of Chapelle-en-Vraix. The nearby graves of the mayor and baker confirmed the identity of the village, and Garrison's map marked it as only two kilometres from the main Paris-Calais railroad. It was, admittedly, two kilometres of tangled woodland and ploughed muddy fields so by the time they reached the break in the cover which marked the railroad the thought of an easy train ride to Paris was the only thing that was keeping Goniff moving.

"I reckon we should wait here and flag down a train, Warden. It could be miles to the next station."

Garrison, crouched below the edge of the cutting, shushed him with a gesture that was all too familiar. The Warden had heard or seen something. The rest of the team scrambled down beside him, keeping low to avoid any chance of being outlined against the paling sky.

"What is it?" Actor voiced the general query.

For answer Garrison gestured to the foliage below them. The white ends of broken branches and the pale undersides of twisted leaves formed a narrow trail along the railway line. "We're not the first people to come down this way tonight," he said, so softly that they barely heard it. A nod sent Chief and Casino down the line, Actor in the opposite direction. Goniff shadowed Garrison with his pistol at the ready as they moved as silently as possible down the slope and across the line.

Their reconnaissance revealed nothing more than a few rabbit holes. Actor returned a few minutes later with a similar story, and his own opinion that the disturbance could have been made by legitimate workmen on the line.

Garrison shook his head. "They'd walk along the track. This was done by someone who didn't want to be seen."

"Poachers?" Goniff suggested, indicating the rabbit burrows.

"Let's hope so. More likely to be saboteurs..." he broke off as Chief materialised at his side and nodded.

"They're cutting the points away down the line. Both sides."

"Damn. What with?"

Casino, arriving in Chief's wake, gave an expert assessment. "Dynamite. Wired direct to the track. There's enough to take out the points, the engine, and half the fucking countryside."

"At least," Garrison observed, "they aren't likely to be hanging around to watch."

"Anyone who's within a mile of that when it blows is gonna be decoratin' the landscape. We'd better get outta here too, Warden."

Casino had already turned to leave when the Lieutenant's hand on his shoulder stopped him.

"Wait. I've got an idea."

+++

Armand Calliaux had been driving engines along the Paris-Calais line for forty years. He knew every inch of the track and could tell from the rattle of the tender over the rails exactly where he was. Even on a clouded night in a blacked-out countryside he recognised the hollow clack and echo from the cutting above Chapelle-en-Vraix. His heart beat faster. Last night he had received the message he had been waiting for ever since the German commander in charge of the transport at the Paris depot had assigned him to this route. There were those who vilified him for continuing to work for the occupying army, but now they would learn that he had not betrayed La France. He had been biding his time ready for this moment.

He slowed the train ready for the bend ahead. If he timed it right he would be able to jump for the shelter of the bank as she came out of the cutting. Then, if the Resistance had set the charges, the train should pick up enough speed on the down slope to plough across the points before the guard in the cab could do anything to stop it.

He glanced across at the guard. The fool suspected nothing, had not noticed the drop in speed, did not even have his gun in his hand. He was peering forward into the night at something on the track ahead.

Could the Resistance have left some trace of their handiwork? Calliaux followed the German's gaze and almost swore aloud. _Diable!_ There was fire on either side of the track, signal flares bright enough to illuminate two men in workmen's garb waving urgently to stop the train. Had something gone wrong? What should he do?

The decision was taken out of his hands by the German sergeant, who gave a curt command to stop the train and, as it drew to a halt, jumped down, gun now at the ready, to ask, in almost unintelligible French, _"Qu'est-ce qu'il y a?"_

The taller of the two men raised his hands under threat of the gun and explained, slowly and carefully, that the track ahead had been mined by local partisans.

Armand watched numbly as the Sergeant called five of the guards from the trucks and went forward with the two strangers to inspect the trap. He debated whether to run the train forward in the hope that it would still set off the explosives. At least it might take these two traitors with it.

Before he could make any decision, one of them returned, alone, and paused below the cab to light a cigarette. Presumably he was waiting for his companion. Armand looked desperately around the cab. Of course, the filthy Germans would not let him have a gun, but a good Frenchman can always find a weapon to hand to kill a traitor. He moved stealthily back and lifted the flat-bladed shovel from the back of the tender. The caked coaldust prevented any light from striking betraying highlights from the metal. The fair-haired man was standing with his back to the cab, concentrating on his cigarette. His open collared shirt exposed his neck perfectly. A single blow with the edge of the spade would kill as efficiently as a gun. He raised his makeshift weapon carefully... and felt a solid thump on his back, thought it was nothing more than a stone spat out from the firebox - until his lungs filled with blood and his brain emptied. He did not feel the cold fire of the knife as Chief pulled it from his dead body.

The action had not been entirely silent. The clatter of the falling spade and the man's dying groan brought Actor and Goniff running from where they had been disposing of the remaining German guards.

"Damn." Garrison looked down at the body, then up at Chief. There was no recrimination in his eyes. The Indian had done what was necessary, but it left them with a problem: a train, but no driver. At that point Casino arrived with a boxful of the dynamite he had removed from the points.

"Something else, Warden," Actor said, taking in the body on which Chief was wiping his blade clean with no real surprise. "I know why they mined the tracks. This is an ammunition train."

Casino set his box down carefully. "I guess we just blow it up here and walk after all, eh, Warden?"

"Unless any of you can drive a steam engine."

Three dark heads shook. Goniff looked up diffidently. "Sure. I've done it a couple of times."

Four identical expressions of disbelief prompted him to more confidence. "Got a cousin with GWR let me ride on the footplate with 'im. If these Frog trains are the same I can get it moving." He shrugged; "After that, we just go where the line takes us, right?"

Garrison, who was beginning to believe that there were no limits to the nefarious talents of this unlikely team, slapped the Cockney on the back. "Okay. In that case, we leave a truckful here for the Partisans."

"Repayment for spoiling their fireworks?" asked Actor. He was rewarded for the remark by instructions to take Chief and uncouple the last truck in line.

"And then," Garrison continued, "we deliver the rest to the German army. Together with a few explosives of our own. Casino, see to that while we get this thing moving."

Casino hefted his box and departed, grinning. Garrison pulled off his shirt and bent to open the firebox. "Okay, Goniff. You drive, I'll shovel."

The thief reached for the brake lever with undisguised joy. Only one thing spoilt the treat. In the silence of the Occupied French countryside he didn't dare use the steam whistle.

+++

By the time they approached the outskirts of Paris the German authorities had woken up to the fact that Supply Train 10702 was not keeping to its carefully timetabled schedule. The depot at Pont Cardinet was going to receive twelve truckloads of artillery and ammunition ten hours earlier than expected. The Supervisor in charge, however, need not have worried. Since Goniff had not bothered to stop for water on the last twenty miles of the journey the boiler was running so hot that it was a debatable point whether it or Casino's carefully placed charges would explode first. In the event it was a chain reaction as the unmanned train ploughed into the centre of the depot and delivered its cargo vertically.

The team heard the explosion from their safe-house on the Rue Ste Foy almost three miles away.

"Told you that much dynamite would take half the depot with it," observed Casino smugly as he watched the pall of smoke settle over the Parisian rooftops. A smaller sound made him drop his eyes to the street below where a nondescript black car drew up and disgorged Chief. Garrison's brief instruction to 'get some wheels during the hiatus caused by the explosion' had borne fruit. "So what now, Warden?"

"Now we take a look at German Naval HQ." Garrison had exchanged the soot-stained workman's garb for the well-tailored suit of a successful French businessman and was busily stowing his personal effects - cigarettes, matches, wallet with forged papers and ration coupons - in the appropriate pockets. Actor, similarly clad, pocketed his comb and opened the door to Chief.

"No problems?"

Chief shook his head briefly. "Picked it up at the station. Be hours before anyone sees it's gone."

"Right." Garrison paused and turned back to Goniff and Casino, "We'll be about two hours. Don't leave. I don't want to risk anyone seeing either of you before we pull this job."

"Aw, Warden. That's Paris out there... Wine, women 'n' song. Can't we just..."

Garrison had already left.

"After the war is over," said Actor, "I'll give you both a personal tour of the best nightspots." He closed the door behind him.

+++

At West Point they'd called it 'observation and reconnaissance'. Casino would've called it 'casing the joint'. Either way the imposing bulk of the Kriegsmarine Headquarters did not look like an easy target. Since parking spaces in front of the building were reserved for top Naval personnel, Chief parked the stolen car further down the street and Garrison and Actor strolled across to take a closer look.

At least it was on a public street. A busy public street. That meant that anyone alighting from a car to enter the building had to cross the sidewalk before ascending the curved flight of steps to the guarded door. If they could be sure of the time of the Grand Admiral's arrival it might be possible to fake an accident, to run some sort of interference which would give Goniff an opportunity to, as he put it, 'dip the Admiral'. But the risk was appalling. An inside con might be smoother...

Lost in thought, Garrison failed to dodge a man walking along the sidewalk with his own air of distraction. Both men stumbled before Actor caught Garrison's elbow to keep him upright and muttered a quick _"Pardon, monsieur,"_ in apology as the stranger hurried past.

The incident was over in seconds. If Garrison had been the staid businessman he was impersonating he would have thought nothing of it, but a long association with thieves and conmen had taught him to be wary of apparent accidents. He had engineered far to many himself. Even as he regained his balance, he turned, feeling in his jacket pocket. Actor, as familiar as Garrison with the techniques of theft, didn't need to see his horrified expression to understand what had happened.

"Your wallet?" he asked.

Before Garrison had completed his nod Actor had taken off in pursuit.

 _"Voleur! Arrete!"_

He was not alone. Chief had also taken in the situation and spun the car in the width of the street to follow.

The pickpocket, doubtless astonished by the speed of his discovery, dodged the bystanders and ran. He had enough of a start that even Actor's raking strides could not close the gap, but he missed seeing the car coming up on his outside until it swung across the sidewalk and the open door sent him flying. A hand reached out to pull him into the vehicle, dragging him across the passenger seat. Disoriented, he struggled upright as Chief slammed the vehicle into reverse, directly into the path of the arriving Gendarmerie.

There was a resounding crash.

Actor pulled to an abrupt halt. Garrison joined him in time to see the police converge on the stolen car. It was obvious from their reaction that they regarded Chief as the thief's accomplice, a getaway driver. Even then Garrison might have intervened to retrieve his stolen property, have played the innocent bystander. Right up to the point when the policeman grabbed Chief's wrist to put on the handcuffs and found the knives.

Two pairs of dark eyes met Garrison's briefly, awaiting his decision. The shake of his head was imperceptible but it held Actor at his side and sent Chief silently into the custody of the Paris _Gendarmerie._

As the police left with the two prisoners, one of the policemen approached Garrison and Actor. He was carrying the retrieved wallet but made no move to return it.

"Would you two gentlemen care to accompany me to the police station to make a formal identification of the thieves?"

Despite the polite phrasing of the question it was quite clear that the gentlemen had no choice in the matter. Equally politely, and with a silent prayer that their forged documents would stand up to police scrutiny, Garrison acquiesced.

+++

The police station was cluttered and crowded with Parisians protesting their innocence or demanding their rights. The occupying Germans might be running the country, but the work of the public services went on unchanged. The police sergeant guided the two men through the throng to an equally cluttered, but quieter, back office where he finally handed the wallet back to Garrison.

"Perhaps Monsieur would care to check that nothing is missing?"

Garrison's long fingers riffled through the contents. Identity papers and folding money were untouched, as were the two dog-eared photographs - a smiling young woman signed 'with love, Marianne' and a mongrel dog, neither of whom he had ever set eyes on in reality - business cards for clothing manufacturers in Paris, Lyons and Marseilles, a used Metro ticket and...

The seal was missing.

Only Actor, who was watching for it, would have noticed Garrison's brief hesitation before he flipped the wallet closed and nodded to the Gendarme. "Everything is here. I am most grateful."

"Excellent. Now, if you will both follow me, the thief is in one of our holding cells."

It was Actor who caught the singular. "We understood that you had apprehended two men?" he said, interrogatively, as they followed in the policeman's wake.

"Ah yes. But it seems that the driver of the car was an American spy. He has been taken for interrogation by the _Gestapo._ If Jacques Corot was not already well known to us as a petty thief he too would be a guest at the Hotel Lutetia."

He stopped at the second in a row of cells and used a key from his belt to unlock the door. Fortunately he was so concentrating on the task that he did not notice the brief expression of dismay that crossed Actor's face at the name of the thief. The door swung open.

"Now, _Messieurs,_ would you make a formal identification for the record? Is this the man who stole your wallet?"

Garrison moved forward as the man in the cell rose to his feet with a cry of astonishment. "Actor! What did they get you for?"

The police sergeant was turning as Garrison chopped him down. Actor's own hand closed on the thief's throat, choking off his greeting and pushing him back into the cell. Garrison dragged the unconscious policeman in after them and swung the door to.

"Right," he said, dropping the body in front of the startled thief like a dead pigeon, "Switch clothes."

"Jesu! You came to bust me out? Actor, if I'd known he was with you I'd never've..."

"Shut up, Jacques, and get on with it," Actor said curtly, without moving from his observation point by the door.

Garrison, satisfied that the other man was fully occupied, joined him. "He knows you, Actor. Are you on the police records in Paris?"

Actor grimaced. "Jacques knows me from Nice. His sister..." He broke off at Garrison's glower and continued, "It is ten years since I last worked in Paris, and I was never caught. But it is possible that there are records in the archives."

"Damn." Garrison turned back to the thief who was struggling into the jacket of his new uniform. Garrison had already relieved the policeman of his gun and used it now to emphasise his commands. "Right, you're going to walk out of here with us. Actor will do the talking. And for Christ's sake don't let any of the cops see your face." It was a tone that brooked no argument. The gun held surreptitiously against the thief's ribs emphasised the point.

Their departure, after the foul-ups of the last hour, went mercifully to Garrison's script. As they strolled past the guarded entrance Actor turned casually to their captive and explained, loudly enough for the bored guard to hear, that he would show the Sergeant where the incident had taken place. Perhaps they would find the missing ring. Once out on the street they walked calmly to the corner, where Actor hailed a taxi to take them to the Gare du Nord. Three changes of vehicle later, they were back at the safe house.

+++

Casino's first words, before they were even through the door, were, "Where's Chief?"

Goniff's were, "Who's that?"

Ten minutes of explanation later, Goniff was looking with contempt at the man who had been stupid enough to try to dip the Warden and had been responsible for putting Chief in the hands of the _Gestapo._ "What now, Warden? Do we spring Chiefy? Maybe we could swap him for this berk."

Casino shrugged. "Ah, y'know Chief. He'll get out. Probably leave a trail of dead Germans all the way back here."

"I don't think so."

Garrison, like Goniff, knew exactly what Chief faced at the hands of the _Gestapo._ He also remembered the first time he had met Chief in the bare prison cell in Sing Sing. The man had listened unmoving and in absolute silence to his proposition, cocooned in an unbreakable fatalism. Garrison knew his background, and was aware that few American Indians survived such captivity for more than a few months. "They just pine away," the Governor had said; "they's like animals. Y'caint cage 'em in, an y'caint let 'em run loose." The blunt words had haunted him. He had picked Chief for the team as much out of compassion as necessity and had worked to gain his trust and loyalty with the perseverance of a falconer manning an eagle.

He was not going to lose the bird now.

Neither was he going to give up on the mission. The problem of the missing seal was very nearly as pressing as that of his missing team member. Solving them both was not going to be easy.

Aware that four people had been looking at him expectantly for the past five minutes he threw off his distraction and turned to the thief. "That wallet you stole. You took something out before the gendarme got his hands on it."

The man shrugged. " _Monsieur..._ " he got no further as Actor laid a heavy hand on his shoulder.

"It's no use lying to the Lieutenant, Jacques. We've all tried that. What did you do with it?"

"You mean the little gold seal, _n'est pas?_ I had it in my hand when your friend caught me. I must have dropped it. In the car."

Garrison looked at Actor. "Is he telling the truth?"

"We can search him..."

The suggestion was met by frantic protest, which made Goniff wonder whether Actor had been entirely honest himself about his past dealings with the thief. Garrison took in the exchange and shook his head. "Not necessary. The car was still parked outside the police station when we left. Casino, go with him and see if it's still there."

"Sure," Casino took his feet off of the table and moved to take charge of their captive, "and if it's not, baby, you'll wish you'd been taken by the Gestapo too."

It was a threat that reminded them all too much of what Chief must be facing.

+++

Chief had not spoken a single word since the moment when he had put the stolen car into gear to take off after the pickpocket. He faced the _Gestapo_ officer across the width of the leather-topped desk with eyes that looked through him, through the framed photograph of the Führer behind him, through the wall of the room, and into empty space. If he had been willing to let himself feel anything he might have been gratified by the uneasiness of the other man.

The officer was getting desperate to provoke any sort of reaction. He picked up one of the wrist-sheaths from the table, and slid a blade from the oiled leather, "You cannot pretend that you are innocent. These are not the weapons of a soldier - or an honest man." He tossed it down with a contemptuous snort. "Pah! The knife in the back, the garrotte, the crossbow. Thieves' weapons. Murderers'. And the Reich knows how to treat thieves and murderers. And spies."

The words were meant to taunt, to frighten, to provoke a reaction. They achieved nothing. Chief's black eyes were unfocused, his mind withdrawn.

If he had been free, if there had been a fraction of an opportunity, the blade the interrogator tossed so casually aside would have been sheathed in his throat before it hit the desk. But they had given him no chance. Stripped of even belt and shoes, handcuffed and beaten, he had retreated into the last refuge of his race, to the still centre of his spirit. Nothing could touch him there. Armies had broken on that rock. Nations had fallen in the past in the face of the 'stubborn Indian'.

+++

All too conscious of the ticking clock that measured out Chief's captivity and the logistics of the marine war effort, Garrison had been pacing the short length of the bare storage room above the closed _Charcuterie_ for so long the Goniff was beginning to worry that he might wear the floorboards right through to the rows of rusting meathooks below. He was about to make a comment when the sound of the door below opening and hurried footsteps on the stairs pulled the Lieutenant up short at last. He was behind the inner door with a gun in his hand when it opened and Casino almost fell into the room.

He was alone.

Garrison shut the door and holstered the weapon, as Actor and Goniff voiced the question for him. "What happened?"

"The lousy thief took it on the lam. I tried to grab him, but..."

"So much for honour among thieves." Garrison glanced at Actor, then back to Casino. "Did you get the seal?"

Casino caught his breath, nodded and tossed the tiny gold object to Garrison who caught it neatly one handed while he collected his jacket with the other. He was looking at Actor. "Will Jacques talk?"

"If he's caught - probably. He's got no reason to protect us."

Goniff favoured Actor with an expression of reluctant admiration. "Just what did you do to his sister, eh?"

Garrison gave the conman no chance to reply. "Forget it. We've got to get out of here, now. There's another safe house across town we can use. And then we work out how we're going to spring Chief."

+++

In a way, Statenville had been worse. There, there had been no purpose to the beatings, other than blind prejudice, and beyond the bars there had been a glimpse of sky, a view of the changing seasons, a promise of freedom. The cell that the _Gestapo_ threw Chief into was little more than a oubliette, the only light filtering through the keyhole from the bare bulb in the corridor outside. There was scarcely room for him to lie down. Not that he could. Too much of his flesh was bruised or bleeding for any position to be comfortable. What sense of touch had not been numbed told him that the walls were rough concrete, the door steel, the floor tiled and sloped, though there was no drain. If the place needed cleaning the door could be opened and the cell hosed down to drain into the corridor. It obviously didn't happen often, and never efficiently. The smell of blood, faeces and urine pervaded the place.

For a while he lay where they had thrown him, too bruised to face the additional pain that movement would bring. He knew that the torture had barely begun. The rule for all covert operatives was to keep silent for forty-eight hours, to let any accomplices get away. For Chief there was another rule: he would keep silent until the Warden came - or until he died.

 

Although he had spoken casually of putting together a plan to spring Chief, the obstacles that they faced made the project rather more difficult. Garrison had been pouring over a map of the city, absently rolling the seal in his fingers, for nearly half an hour and had come up with nothing.

Goniff ran a hand across the back of his neck to ease a tension that had been there ever since this caper had begun. "Look," he said, with no real hope of being listened to, "that Jacques geezer might squeal at any time, and with a theft on their doorstep the Navy will have tightened up so much on security that a mouse couldn't get near that place now. I say we forget the caper, spring Chief and bugger off home. You can't win 'em all."

"Yes," Garrison said, with more patience than he felt, "the question is - how?"

"Pity they didn't take Chief to Kriegsmarine HQ," said Casino. "Goniff could dip the Admiral while we lift Chief..."

There was a long pause. Actor, watching, could almost see Garrison's mind working. He was not surprised when the Lieutenant slapped a hand down decisively on the map.

"That's it! We can't move Chief, but we could persuade the Admiral to pay him a visit."

"Dangerous," said Actor, though he did not specify for whom.

"Dangerous?" Casino was on his feet, fist clenched, "fucking suicidal. If that thief talks this town is going to be crawling with cops and Krauts looking for us, and you want to walk straight into _Gestapo_ HQ."

"Look at it this way, Casino. That's one place they won't be looking. And we'll have to be careful."

"I'll second that," agreed Goniff, fully aware that Garrison's definition of 'careful' would be found in most dictionaries under 'risky'. But there was no point in arguing with the Warden at this stage in a caper. When he had an idea there was no choice but to follow his lead. "So how do we persuade the Grand Admiral to visit a _Gestapo_ prisoner?"

"We tell him the prisoner has something of his."

"The seal?" Actor was grinning, as delighted by the idea as its originator.

Casino had calmed down only marginally. "Just a minute, Warden. That'd blow the caper. Dönitz knows he's got his own seal. You wanna tip him that there's a fake around?"

Garrison thought for a moment, then shook his head. "No," he said, thoughtfully. "No... Casino's right. We don't want to make the Grand Admiral suspicious of the seal. The longer he uses our fake without noticing the more our ships will get through the U-boat blockade."

Actor glanced at the other two cons. They too had noticed that their commander still intended to go through with the original mission. But - "So what bait do we use?" he asked.

"Documentary evidence. They think Chief's a spy. Well, we'll prove it. Actor, you and Casino are going back to Kriegsmarine HQ, see if you can find some papers - a file or something - that might worry the Grand Admiral enough to want to check the spy story himself."

Casino blinked doubtfully. "Warden, you don't even know where the safe is. We never cased the joint - remember?"

"I remember." Garrison was coldly stern, the first time his real concern for what had happened to Chief had shown. Then he shook his head, and the mood passed. "Not the safe. You should be able to find something in one of the offices."

Actor nodded. "It will be easier than what we originally planned. We have the uniforms and passes already."

"Right. Casino can take the _Marinebeamten_ uniform I was going to use. But we'll need something different for the Gestapo. They'll expect an officer with a _Wehrkreise_ escort. Goniff, while Actor and Casino are getting the file, we'll go pick up some new uniforms."

Goniff gave a theatrical sigh worthy of Actor. "When the war's over I'm going into the second hand clothes business. You got any preference for rank?"

"Something that fits would be nice," Actor said, wistfully.

"Something that fits you would be a miracle."

Garrison hid a grin. "Okay, let's go. We'll find something suitable for a _Gestapo_ officer, and I'll need an escort. I don't think the Admiral would expect to be escorted by anything less than at least a Major, do you?"

"Always after ruddy promotion," Goniff muttered, looking at Actor before adding a crisp, military, "Yes, Sir."

+++

It was an hour past noon when Actor, sporting heavy-framed spectacles and a scarred cheek which made him look completely different from the civilian who had been involved in the fracas outside the building earlier in the day, mounted the steps and, with the air of an officer returning from a late luncheon appointment, flicked his pass at the guard on the door.

Casino, following in his wake with a gaggle of female secretaries and other clerks who worked in the building, was likewise admitted with no more than a cursory glance. He was grinning when he joined Actor on the other side of the swing doors.

"Hey," he said softly, waving one of the girls on her way, "You're gonna haveta teach me the Kraut for 'what's a nice girl like you doin' in a place like this?'"

 _"Hast du einen Bruder, der genauso huebsch ist wie du?"_ said Actor, with a grin that made Casino certain that whatever else he said to a prospective German girlfriend it wouldn't be _that._

"Okay," he said instead. "Where now?"

Actor led the way into the depths of the building, checking the signs on the doors which flanked the corridors. At last he paused beside one labelled **'VERSANDPAPIERE'**. He knocked and, when there was no answer, turned the knob. The door opened onto a room full of filing cabinets and nothing else.

"This should do," he said, leading the way inside. Casino closed the door behind them and turned the convenient key. Meanwhile Actor put down his briefcase and started checking the labels on the cabinet drawers. He stopped half way down the third cabinet. "Let's try this one," he said, pulling at the drawer handle, with no result. "Damn." He turned to the safecracker. "Can you pick the lock?"

"Don't need to," said Casino. He knelt beside the chosen cabinet and felt around under the bottom drawer. "Can you tilt it back a bit?"

With no apparent effort the bigger man caught the edge of the cabinet and pushed, tilting it back so that the bottom edge lifted a few inches clear of the floor.

"Simple," said Casino. "There's a bar, see. Goes right up inside the cabinet with a hook on the top. The lock just holds the hook. If you twist it from the bottom it unhooks and - voila!"

There was a click as the bar was released and all four drawers ran out for a second before the two men lowered the cabinet back to an upright position.

"Neat," said Actor, pulling out the drawer he had selected and riffling through the files stacked inside. He extracted one from near the back and flipped it open to reveal a sheaf of typewritten documents. "This will do," he added, slipping it into the briefcase.

"What is it?"

"Nothing important. Just requisitions and repair notifications for the warship _Forellenbrücke._ It's out of date, but for the military to lose any records is a breach of security. It should do the trick."

"Right." Casino banged the cabinet expertly to relock it and picked up his cap. "Let's get out of this place before anyone finds out their security's been breached."

+++

They reached the safehouse only minutes behind Garrison and Goniff, who were sorting through a case full of clothing. Actor extracted the spoils of their own raid from the briefcase and dropped the file on the table. "Is that what you wanted?" he asked.

"Fine." Garrison pushed aside the stolen uniforms and pulled up a chair, motioning the others to gather round. "Okay, this is how we play it. You ever seen the cup and ball trick?" he asked.

"Sure." said Casino. "Same as `find the lady'."

"Misdirection. If we play this right the Admiral's going to be too worried about this file to even think about checking for pickpockets."

"Let me guess," said Goniff. "You still want me to dip him for the seal?"

Garrison nodded. "Yes. He shouldn't be suspicious. We're going to be his very own escort - right into _Gestapo_ HQ. It'll be a lot easier than bumping into him in the street."

Casino, resigned, shrugged. "Okay, so we've kidnapped any number of Generals. A Grand Admiral will make a change."

Garrison, remembering the occasion on which they'd kidnapped an entire Court Martial, forbore comment. He smoothed out the street map, an attention-getting gesture that brought the other men to look over his shoulder. "Look, Kriegsmarine HQ is two miles across the city from the Hotel Lutetia where the _Gestapo_ is based. Too far to risk moving a prisoner for interrogation. If we pose as _Gestapo _interrogators we might persuade the Admiral to come with us to confront the prisoner personally."__

 _"It'll take some fast talking," Actor observed through the smoke from his pipe._

 _"You're the conman. Think you can do it?"_

 _"Convince him we're _Gestapo?_ Yes. But we will need papers as well."_

"I've got contacts who can fix that. I'll pick them up in half an hour. Meanwhile," he smiled at Casino, who had finally calmed down enough to listen. Arguing with the Warden was futile beyond a certain point, and the safecracker had passed that as soon as he'd walked in the door. The only thing to do now was go with the flow. "Let's call the Admiral."

+++

The most difficult part of the con had been finding an untraceable phone line. After that talking his way past a barrage of uncooperative switchboard operators and secretaries before the last grudgingly permitted Garrison to speak with the Admiral's aide was a matter of time and patience. He just hoped that Chief still had both. The news that an American spy was being held at _Gestapo_ HQ did not apparently warrant the ear of the Admiral. The news that the spy had been caught on the very steps of naval headquarters, and, under what Garrison carefully described as 'preliminary interrogation' had confessed to possession of secret naval documents, did.

"Then he should be turned over to our investigators for further questioning. Have him sent here at once."

"With respect, Grand Admiral," Garrison said in his least respectful tone, "we believe the man has accomplices who may try to arrange his escape. We do not consider that it would be - prudent - to move him from our cells until we are certain that these people have no opportunity to make such an attempt."

There was an eloquent silence on the other end of the line. Garrison let it stretch for a while before adding: "I should, of course, be happy to provide a car and escort if the Admiral wishes to interrogate the prisoner here at our headquarters."

The deferential suggestion had all the force of a _Gestapo_ order behind it. Actor, listening, held his breath, certain that this time Garrison had overplayed his hand. Surely the Admiral himself would not be so easily coerced into jumping through a _Gestapo_ hoop?

He was wrong. After a further pause to demonstrate his independence the Admiral gave his own order for the car to be sent immediately.

 _"Sofort, Herr Grossadmiral._ " Garrison cut off the connection with a smug smirk.

"I don't get it," said Goniff. "If the Admiral goes to Gestapo HQ they won't be expecting him. And he's not going to get Chief out for us."

"No, but he'll be met by a Gestapo Colonel who's just been assigned to Paris." He started dialling a second time, the number of Gestapo HQ. "So we tell the _Gestapo_ to expect them both. And extend them every facility..." He paused as the line connected. "Your turn, he said, handing the receiver to Actor. The conman took a long breath, closed his eyes briefly to compose himself and then said, in a passable imitation of the Admiral's voice: _"Kommandant Mueller? Wenn ich das richtig verstehe, dann haben Sie einen amerikanischen Spion in Ihrem Gefängnis..."_

+++

At least, Garrison reflected, the Admiral was punctual. The _Gestapo_ car which they had acquired was parked almost directly on the spot where Jacques had carried out his theft earlier. He hoped devoutly that the guards had been changed, or that they had very bad memories for faces. The risk of himself and Actor being recognised increased with the length of time the car waited, so it was with relief that he saw the Admiral and his escort emerge through the double doors at the head of the steps.

"Whadya know, he brought it," whispered Casino.

"So far," Garrison responded under his breath as he swung the heavy door of the Mercedes open to admit their target. The Admiral's departure from his own headquarters had gone to schedule. He hoped that their arrival at the _Gestapo_ HQ would prove equally trouble free.

+++

As the imposing car and its entourage drew up outside the Hotel Lutetia Goniff jumped down to open the door for the Admiral. Garrison, who was watching for it, did not see the pickpocket's quick fingers in action but, as he stepped down from the vehicle in the Admiral's wake a small, hard object was pressed into his hand.

The practice had paid off. Part two of the plan was keeping to the script.

Judging by the alacrity with which they were passed into the building it seemed that Actor's fast talking on the phone had also worked and the Admiral's familiar features were sufficient authorisation to admit the group to the Kommandant's office with the minimum of delay.

That, however, was the end of the easy part. As the door opened Garrison's fingers were very close to the gun in his holster. Actor had done some glib explaining on the phone and Kommandant Mueller should expect the Admiral to be accompanied by a newly assigned Gestapo officer - and his military escort, but there was always the chance that he might have checked, or that the Admiral himself might note the discrepancies between what he and the Kommandant had been told. The trick was to keep them both off balance.

From appearances this would not be as difficult as he had at first supposed. Mueller was a sly-faced rabbit of a man, his greying hair and thickening waistline marking him as clearly more at home behind a desk than on a battlefield. For all the power of his own position he was obviously overawed by the presence of the Grand Admiral. Garrison had some sympathy with this; a man who had the ear of the Führer was not to be trifled with, even by the head of the Paris office of the _Gestapo_ , but Mueller's deference gave Garrison the opportunity to take over the introductions as if he and not the Admiral were the senior officer in the room, flattering the Kommandant with congratulations on his capture of the spy, and commending his work to the Admiral in terms which hinted at imminent advancement from the hands of General Oberg himself. Any suspicions which the men might have had of the messenger were dispelled by the magnitude of the message.

"And so," Garrison finished, producing the file with something of a flourish, "the police claim that this was found in the possession of the spy when he was captured. It is from your office, Herr Grossadmiral?"

There was a protest on the other man's lips as he reached for the folder, an exclamation that died as he turned over the papers. "These are not classified documents, but let me see..."

Garrison let him read through the file without comment. This was the dangerous moment. He hoped that the Admiral would be too distracted to take notice of his conversation with the Kommandant. Nevertheless he kept his voice as low as he dared. "The Admiral has asked to question the prisoner. Will you have him brought here."

For a moment he thought that it was going to be as easy as they had hoped when they had put the plan together. Then Mueller spread his hands in a negative gesture. "The man has been questioned. He is a spy, of course, but he has said nothing."

"He's been shot?" It took a superhuman effort to keep his voice disinterested, and more not to betray his relief at the Kommandant's reply. "Not yet. We have other methods yet to try. Of course," he tapped a folder on his desk, "we already have a list of spies and Resistance traitors in Paris, but we always need confirmation, yes?"

Only Actor caught Garrison's briefly indrawn breath. If there was a way of getting out of this with that list, and Chief, and the seal, he was going to find it. Actor would have been quite content to get out with their lives. He hoped that Garrison had those on his list of priorities too. At the top.

"I am sure that you have made every effort to get your confirmation, Herr Kommandant. But perhaps when he is confronted with the Admiral he will talk? Is he being held in your cells? In this building? Then we will go to him."

Garrison turned back to the Admiral just as he put the file down with a puzzled look. The distraction had clearly worked.

"I do not understand this. These documents are old ones. Not material that would interest the Allies."

"This may not be the only thing he obtained," Actor prompted.

"No." The man looked thoughtful, and worried. "Perhaps not. I must speak with this spy."

Garrison picked up his cue. "That has been arranged. _Herr Grossadmiral..._ "

The Kommandant, recognising superior force, nodded and rose, picking up both the Kriegsmarine file and his own list of collaborators. "By all means. Let me secure these first." He turned away to place the documents in the small safe behind his desk. Although he had been unable to follow the conversation it needed only Garrison's slight nod for Casino to know what was expected. He watched the dial turn with more than casual interest.

When the Kommandant turned back Garrison nodded open approval. "Your respect for security is commendable. But let us be doubly sure. We do not need my men for this. They can stay and guard your papers, eh?" The question was also an unmistakable order. Though Goniff and Casino might not understand the language Garrison's tone and gesture made the message clear. As did the brief turn of his fingers before he turned away.

Leaving Goniff and Casino stiffly on guard on either side of the locked study door, the rest of the party followed the Kommandant to the cells.

The man was clearly determined to show off his facilities to the visitors, and was particularly diligent in pointing out security features to the Admiral as they passed through the cream painted corridors. That suited Garrison, who had no difficulty in trailing far enough behind to carry out the next part of their plans.

They descended two flights of stairs with guards posted at the top of each. At the bottom of the first the corridor ran off at right angles to the stairwell, leaving a blind spot which, if repeated in the architecture of the lower floor, would suit Garrison's plans perfectly.

By the time they reached the lower level of cells the rest of the party were far enough ahead to have rounded the corner before Garrison had reached the last steps. He heard the clang of a drawn bolt, and the heavy sound of a cell door opening. Good. Now, while they were occupied...

Glancing back to ensure that the guards really could not see him, he reached into the copious pocket of his black leather greatcoat for the product of Casino's last raid on German military supplies. He touched his cigarette end to the fuse and dropped the smoke bomb at the junction of floor and walls in the blind corner. It had about one minute of fuse, more than enough time...

He rounded the corner to join the others, and his mental countdown stopped when he saw Chief. The Kommandant had been right to say that he could not be brought to the office. Garrison doubted whether he could move at all. Whether he was still alive.

What flesh was not purple with bruises was seared with the red and white puckered scars of burns. Both of his eyes were bruised shut and his hands and feet were bound roughly with rags crusted solid with blood.

And in fifty seconds time he would have to walk out of here.

Garrison clenched his fist briefly before suppressing his instinctive need for action. It was too soon.

Somehow he managed to make his throat work. "I see that you believe in old fashioned interrogation methods," he observed, with a detachment that he did not feel. He took two steps into the cell, put a hand on Chief's shoulder in a gesture of reassurance that looked far rougher than it was. "And has he talked?"

"Not yet..."

...three...two...one...

The grenade made no sound, but there was a shout from the top of the steps as the soldiers posted there saw smoke billowing into the stairwell. The Kommandant responded at once, but he was not as fast as Garrison, who was closer to the door. He ran back to the turn and saw with satisfaction that the device had done its work very well, filling the corridor with an impenetrable wall of smoke. Under its cover he tossed in a second smoke-bomb before retreating, coughing theatrically. "The corridor is blocked. Is there another way out?"

"Along here..."

Garrison grabbed two fire buckets from the row hanging on the wall and handed one to Actor. "We will see if we can halt the flames." he said to the Gestapo officer, "You escort the Admiral."

"I...What about the prisoner?"

Garrison slammed the cell door and shot the bolt. "Let him take his chance. The Admiral's life is more important. Go!"

As if to emphasise the command a new cloud of smoke erupted along to corridor as the second bomb ignited. It was enough to convince the Kommandant. He left with the Admiral in dignified haste. When he was certain that both men were out of earshot Garrison drew back the bolt and opened the door far more quietly than he had slammed it. He knelt to whisper to the man huddled in the tiny cell. "Chief? It's okay. Just a smoke bomb. Let's get you out of here."

"No." It must have taken an effort of will to speak, and the words were barely recognisable. "They've got a list. Resistance..."

"Casino's getting it now."

The reassurance was all Chief had been waiting for. His message delivered, he closed his eyes, concentrating what was left of his strength to avoid crying aloud when Actor and Garrison lifted him from the floor.

Actor looked at Garrison over the drooping head. "Warden, he can't walk out like this."

Garrison had already realised the fact. "Then we carry him out. Wait here."

He raced back down the corridor to the place where he'd acquired the fire bucket. Beside the rack of firefighting equipment was a long cabinet labelled with a red cross. He pulled it open and extracted a stretcher and two blankets. As he ran back to the cell he heard footsteps on the stairs. The smoke was thinning. He fairly threw the stretcher at Actor and sprinted back to lob another grenade into the stairwell. When he returned Actor had the straps undone and had rolled Chief onto the canvas webbing. He had stripped off his jacket and pulled a dark scarf around the lower half of the Indian's face.

"Smoke victim," he said, in explanation.

Garrison nodded and tied a concealing handkerchief around his own face as Actor draped his inverted jacket over his head and shoulders to conceal his features and nominal rank. The two men picked up the free handles of the stretcher with a gentleness which belied their urgency.

"Let's make it fast," Garrison said. "And Actor, don't..."

"Forget to cough?" asked the conman, well aware that Garrison had been about to give his usual superfluous warning about overacting.

Garrison grinned: "That too."

The last smoke bomb had filled the stairwell with such a cloud of fumes that both men were coughing in earnest as they staggered past the descending firefighters with their shrouded burden. All too aware that the men would return within minutes when they discovered that there was no fire, Garrison and Actor moved as fast as they could along the ground floor corridors. If they were challenged they were in no position to offer resistance.

+++

It felt like an eternity before they reached the Kommandant's study. Leaving Actor to support Chief, Garrison gave the staccato warning knock that announced his presence. The door was opened by Casino. Behind him Garrison caught a glimpse of Goniff closing the desk drawer and dusting off the lock.

"You got everything?" he asked.

Casino nodded. "And a bonus," he said, stepping out into the corridor. He paused briefly, shocked by the initial sight of Chief's state before going to help him.

"Then let's move." Garrison turned, beckoning Actor who abandoned his charge to the other two members of the team and came forward to join Garrison.

"We'll meet at the Montmartre safe house," he said. "Give me an hour."

"Lieutenant," Actor's whisper was low but fierce, "you should come with us. It's not safe..." He stopped, recognising from Garrison's expression that argument was futile.

"Someone has to convince the Admiral that this was just a prison break, and keep him from thinking about that seal until he has a chance to use it."

"An hour," Actor agreed. He watched the Lieutenant stride back into the bowels of the building with mixed feelings. They had got Chief out against all the odds. If Garrison didn't return within the promised hour the chances of a repeat performance were slim to non-existent. But no one argued with the Warden in this mood. He squared his shoulders and made his way to the exit.

Casino looked up as Actor joined them. "Where's the Warden?"

"He's going to make sure the Admiral gets back to his HQ."

"Blimey, I know he always expects us to replace what we steal, but isn't that going a bit too far?"

Privately Actor agreed with Goniff, but this wasn't the time to say so. He turned and led the way out of the building.

The confusion inside the building was mirrored outside. There were still guards outside the doors but they were more concerned with getting people out safely than checking papers. It was only when they started loading their invalid into the back of the waiting staff car that they were challenged, and by that time it was to late. Casino had his foot on the accelerator before Actor had finished closing the door. He took the corner at speed, neatly avoiding a damaged lamp post which sloped out across the kerb at exactly the right angle to sweep a pursuing motorcyclist off of his machine.

"He make it?"

"Nah," the Cockney's contemptuous comment was cut short as he had to duck a shot from behind. "But there's two more behind him. Step on it, Casino."

Casino stepped. As the car surged forward a shot from one of the armoured cars behind shattered a wing mirror, spraying glass across the wheel. Casino shook blood off of his knuckles and swerved across the road.

"Can't you take out their fuckin' tyres?"

Goniff spared a glance back across his shoulder from his position crouched over Chief in the rear seat. "What the hell d'you think I'm tryin' to do? If you could hold this crate steady..."

"Whatever you say, babe." Casino braked. The driver of the following car was a lot slower to react and before he could hit his own brakes Goniff's carefully placed shots had deprived him of a front tyre and all chance of controlling the car. His sideways skid scooped up one of the remaining motorcyclists and deposited half of the pursuit through the plate glass window of a shoeshop. Casino shifted gear, circled the crash site and plunged into an alleyway only inches wider than the car itself.

"One down, three to go. What now?" he asked.

Actor, who knew Paris by night better than most of the city's natives, pointed out another narrow alleyway. "Down there, and make a right at the end."

"You'd better know what you're doin' baby, cos if we hit a dead-end at this speed the Krauts'll have to scrape us off the bodywork." Despite the comment, Casino took the turn neatly on two wheels, fishtailed across a small tiled courtyard and dived into another alley.

"Where are we headed anyway, Actor? Some brothel? A gambling joint?"

"The river," the conman responded, just as they broke free of the tangle of buildings.

"Great," was the only comment Casino had time for as a double roar behind announced that the pursuit had been reduced to two motorcycles whose riders were having far too much difficulty in following the team's erratic progress to spare time to shoot.

Goniff took advantage of the respite to check their invalid. "You okay?"

Chief managed a painful nod, and a question of his own. "The Warden?"

"He's following," said Goniff, as much to reassure himself as Chief. "Hey, we got your knives back. Found 'em in the Kommandant's desk drawer. You want to wear 'em?"

The expression in Chief's eyes was unreadable, a mirror of what the Kommandant had faced earlier. Goniff took it for consent and buckled the leather sheath carefully around the Indian's right wrist. Chief flexed his fingers in response. Goniff would have made a comment if the car had not suddenly lurched onto two wheels to take a turn that Actor had pointed out almost too late.

"Blimey, go easy mate..."

They had emerged onto a broad boulevard with a row of baroque Government buildings on one side and a high granite wall on the other, behind which lay the moonlit waters of the Seine. Goniff didn't have a chance to enjoy the view because, as the car righted itself and Casino took the opportunity of a clear straight road to floor the accelerator, a fusillade of shots ricocheted off the rear bumper.

"What the hell?"

"You know that car we lost back in the alley?"

"We just found it again?"

"You got it."

"Damn." Actor glanced back briefly then indicated a break in the riverside wall ahead. "Down there."

Casino took the turn without looking, regretting it instantly as he saw that the road ended in a flight of shallow steps leading to a cobbled quayside.

"Christ! What'd'ya think this is Actor, a plane?"

"A Mercedes," Actor responded; "she'll take it."

"Maybe, but will we?" the cracksman muttered, as he bumped the vehicle up over the kerb and set it rolling at an angle down the slope. Behind them there was a screech of brakes as the pursuing vehicles came to a halt at the top of the steps. Angry German bullets and futile commands followed them, but Casino had other problems.

"She ripped a fuel line going down those stairs," he said, wrestling with the wheel as the car skidded across the cobbles, barely under his control, and stopped more as a result of a collision between its rear wheelarch and a mooring bollard than because Casino had floored the brake. A line of bullets stitched themselves across the nearside door as the team ducked for cover. They were all acutely aware of the smell of spilled gasoline in the air.

"Out," said Actor, fully conscious that the whole vehicle might go up in flames at any second. "Casino, I'll take Chief. You and Goniff cover us."

Goniff, sensible of the danger of a ricochet off the oil-slick cobbles which could easily send the whole quayside up in flames, and them with it, rolled out of the side door into the cover of a bollard, unholstering his revolver as he did so. At the top of the steps one of the soldiers rose from the cover of his own vehicle. It was a mistake that Goniff did not allow him to repeat. The single shot dropped him over the hood of his car and a few equally well placed shots from Casino discouraged the others from following his example for a few minutes, long enough for Actor to manoeuvre Chief out of the rear of the staff car and across to the shelter of the embankment wall where Actor unholstered his own gun and circled to rejoin the defence.

"What now?" asked Goniff, reloading as Actor arrived.

"Now we give 'em something else to think about," said Casino.

It was an accurate prediction. The words were barely spoken when the roar of an engine being pushed to its limits echoed off of the buttress above them and a third motorcycle bearing a helmeted and leather-coated rider hurtled up over the top of the steps and bounced once on its back wheel halfway down.

Goniff, the nearest man, shifted aim and was about to put a bullet into the flying rider before his machine came to earth when a shout from the quayside stopped him.

"No!"

Goniff hesitated, as much from surprise that Chief could speak as in response to his command. "What?" He didn't drop his aim though, until Casino confirmed what Chief had realised.

"It's the Warden."

"Blimey."

He didn't have time for further comment. The Germans on the quayside suddenly recognised that the lone motorcyclist was not one of their company and opened fire.

That was a mistake. Garrison was braking hard as he hit level ground but the tyres could get no purchase on the oily cobbles. He threw himself clear as the bike shuddered, fell on its side, and crashed squarely into the wrecked car.

Both vehicles exploded in flames.

Actor, Casino and Goniff found themselves separated from the other two members of the team by the burning vehicles and a rain of gunfire. They returned it with interest, dropping three of the Germans easily as they stood transfixed against the sudden light. More soldiers hurried for cover on the dark side of the quay, where one, seeing Garrison crawl from the wreckage of his stolen machine, found an opportunity for revenge.

Garrison had not seen the danger; could not see it, through the flames and rising smoke. As the German took aim at his unprotected back Chief, struggling upright against the wall where Actor had left him, reacted with an instinct that overrode all pain from his abused muscles, drawing and throwing the blade with the last of his strength.

It missed, and clattered to the cobbles, but the sound distracted the soldier and alerted Garrison. In the fraction of a second before the reaction from the throw sent him staggering back over the edge of the quay and into the swift waters of the Seine, Chief saw the Warden bring his own weapon to bear. Then darkness drowned all sensation.

Garrison emptied the magazine in the direction of the enemy, following it with the gun as he covered the intervening ground in three strides and hurled himself over the edge of the quay in a long flat dive to cleave the water exactly over the spot where Chief had disappeared.

Bullets ripped into the surface after him.

+++

As the water closed over his head Garrison knew that if he did not find Chief at the first attempt there would be no second chance. At least it was not wholly dark. The full moon cast enough light for him to see dark shapes in the water. He had gone deep fast, hoping to get below Chief's drifting body so that there was a chance he could locate him against the light. But there was too much above him. Boats and buoys and... a body, limp and drifting, crucified against the moon's disc.

He kicked upwards, caught the other man under the armpits as he rose and broke the surface with a frozen cheek resting against his.

It was Chief, the light confirmed it. For a moment he trod water, grateful that there were no more shots, and then he realised why: the current, swift here, had carried them well out of range. Now he had only to worry about getting ashore.

 

When Garrison had gone into the water Actor had signalled immediately to the other two to stop firing. The ruse had worked. In the confusion the Germans clearly had not been aware that there had been more than two men hiding on the quayside, and they had seen both go into the water. Now they concentrated all their fire on the escaping Lieutenant. They did not realise that they were not alone until a harsh military bark made them turn. "Stop wasting ammunition, you idiots! Find a boat!"

Surprise and military discipline made them obey. Within minutes Actor was presented with a police launch, an event which seemed to surprise its pilot as much as the conman.

The latter recovered first. With some final pointed commands about scouring the banks upriver for more possible and entirely imaginary collaborators Actor dispersed the rest of the opposition on the quayside.

By the time he climbed into the launch Casino had the engine running and the bows pointed downstream, while Goniff had the pilot and a single startled French policeman held at gunpoint in the cabin. Both were protesting the commandeering of their craft in voluble French. They continued until the boat shot into the lee of a bridge, when the three hijackers took the opportunity to dispose of them over the side.

+++

Where boats were concerned Actor was a far more experienced driver than Casino and the cracksman was relieved to relinquish the wheel, though he would not admit it, taking refuge in protest. "You realise that this is crazy, Actor? There's no chance we'll find 'em before daylight an' if we do we could run 'em down in this boat without noticing."

"We'd notice," said Actor grimly, heeling the boat to starboard to quarter the river. "Keep looking."

Casino didn't need the instruction. Despite his protests he had not taken his eyes from the water which rippled silver in the moonlight and foamed white in their wake.

+++

If he had had breath or time to spare from mere survival Garrison would have laughed at he irony of the situation. Chief was the best swimmer in the team, seal sleek in the water, otter-agile. He had seen the man draw and throw a knife as easily treading twenty feet of water as on dry land. He had relied on the Indian's ability a dozen times to save an apparently hopeless mission. And now he lay inert, the only thing holding him afloat Garrison's arm around his throat, and the Lieutenant's iron will.

Burdened as he was, Garrison could not fight the current. It was as much as he could do to keep both of their heads above water. He let them drift, feeling for an eddy that might sweep them to one shore or the other and saving his strength for that moment.

He was grateful for the bright moonlight. Not only because it had helped him to find Chief but also because it illuminated enough of the banks and the river traffic to enable him to plot his position. He did not know Paris well, but some landmarks were unmistakable, and it was with relief that he finally felt the tug of a shore-bound eddy around his ankles at the point where the river divided. He recognised the dark bulk of the Ile de la Cité with the lacy Gothic outline of Notre Dame rising above them. At the same moment he recognised something else; the rhythmic chug of the engine of a waterborne vessel heading straight for them. He kicked for shore.

+++

As he steered the stolen launch between the high banks of the Seine, Actor was beginning to wonder if their quest was hopeless. He had been used to the river in peacetime, when the brightly lit _bâteaux mouches_ sparkled on the water and flambeaux burned on the boulevades. Paris by night had been a fairyland of light; now it was a nightmare of darkness. The good news was that there was still no pursuit, but three pairs of eyes had failed to find any sign of their companions in the black water.

"Maybe they made it to shore," said Casino, with more hope than conviction.

Actor shook his head. "Even if he does find Chief there is no way that they could get out onto the banks here. These walls cannot be climbed and the moorings and bridges will be guarded."

"Yeah," said Goniff, eyeing the sheer walls gloomily. "An' even if we do find them the Warden won't yell for us, will he? This is a police launch."

Casino turned. "Hey, that's right. He could've let us go by. Hell, we'll never find them now."

It was a thought that had been troubling Actor. A problem to which he had no answer, except to keep searching, and, even that would not be an option for much longer. Ahead the river divided. Time to make a decision.

"I'm taking the right fork," he said. "Goniff, there's one more thing we can try."

+++

It was dark in the shadow of the cathedral, so dark that Garrison did not see the debris-scoured wall until the current slammed him into it. He almost lost his hold on Chief. Only reflex saved him, a kick that carried him free of the stones and tightened his grip on the Indian. The water swirled around him, sucking inexorably. Above the slap of the current on the stones he could hear a boat coming closer, feel the start of a backwash lifting him. He was at the end of his strength. Another ducking would kill them both, if Chief was not dead already.

He felt himself being driven backwards again, piled against the wall with the rest of the rubbish, then there was a sharp edge of stone against his shoulders, and another under his feet.

It took a moment for him to realise that they were steps, worn almost into a ragged slope by the movement of the water, forgotten and unguarded. The current was already dragging him past. He kicked back, caught at the steps with one hand and, with the last of his strength, hauled them both up the crumbling wall. They gained the flat, cobbled walkway above just as the pursuing boat swept around the corner.

The sound of the engine, caught between the closing riverbanks, echoed in his skull. Common sense told him that no one would be able to see them, sheltered by damp and darkness, but nevertheless it felt as if the vessel was heading straight for his refuge.

He had abandoned his gun, and Chief's wrist sheath was empty. Weaponless, he felt vulnerable, overwhelmed by the roar of the approaching engine. Then, as the foaming wake swept along the river wall and broke over his feet, a totally unexpected sound from the direction of the boat reassured him. Only Goniff could whistle _London Pride_ that far off key and still make it recognisable.

Too exhausted for caution he raised a free hand and waved.

+++

The sudden silence as Actor brought the boat alongside the steps and cut the engine was deafening. The launch bumped against the steps, held there by the current. Above him Garrison was no more than a dark shape against the moonlit building.

"Chief?" he asked.

"I found him," said Garrison, not daring to say more.

Actor nodded, acknowledging the reason for his reticence. Finding Garrison alive was more than he had hoped for. "I'll come up," he said.

As he moved to step ashore Casino called softly from the boat. "Trouble," he stated.

The pursuit they had feared had finally mobilised. A second launch was racing downriver, headlights blazing at its prow.

Surprisingly it was Garrison who recovered first. "Casino," he said, "can you scuttle this thing?"

"There's a couple' flares I could use," Casino responded, with a grin which suggested he had only been waiting for the opportunity.

"Do it."

The cracksman disappeared into the cabin. Meanwhile, under Garrison's orders, Goniff jumped ashore to tether the stern line to a ring on the river wall while Actor spun the wheel and locked it into position with a long spanner from the toolbox. Casino emerged from below as he finished.

"Done," he said, in response to Garrison's raised eyebrow. "One minute, and she'll go up like a firecracker," he grinned, "and then straight down."

"Good. Okay Actor, let her go."

The engine roared to life again under the conman's fingers. The boat strained at the single mooring line for a moment, until both men had jumped for shore. Then Goniff loosed the line and the launch bucked away out into the middle of the river. It was spotlit at once by the second launch which altered course to intercept it. The two boats met just as Casino's prophecy was fulfilled. Seconds later there was nothing but flaming debris scattered on the water to mark where both vessels had been.

 

"That," said Actor, standing and attempting to brush some of the wet grit and dust from his clothing, "was close."

Garrison nodded. "Let's hope they waste time looking for the bodies," he said. "Actor, you'd better take a look at Chief."

The conman had already spotted the still form huddled at the top of the steps, and moved to the Indian's side, certain that he would be dealing with a corpse.

"Can you do anything?"

Actor bent over the dripping body. He suspected that Chief already had broken ribs from the _Gestapo_ beatings. If he tried to force water out of his lungs there was every chance that a jagged edge of bone would pierce them. But he had no choice. Either way, Chief was dead.

"I'll do what I can," he said, kneeling over the prone Indian and placing his hands carefully over the bruised flesh.

His first push brought a froth of dark water from the pale lips but, miraculously, no blood. And no breath. With a silent prayer to the Virgin whose shrine stood above them, he tried three more times, feeling bone move sickeningly under his fingers. More water and mucus puddled on the stones. Chief's lungs were clear, he had only to fill them. He rolled the limp body over. This was something that he had only heard about, a new technique of resuscitation that was less likely to kill a man in Chief's condition, if he was not dead already. He took a deep breath himself, tilted the Indian's head back to clear his windpipe, closed his thumb and forefinger over the wide nostrils and sealed his own mouth over the cold lips to blow air and life into the shattered body.

Again, and again. The instructors had been firm about that. Go on until you are certain that there is no chance of revival. He went past that point, driven by Garrison's silent presence and his own hatred of failure.

After what seemed an eternity he felt Garrison's hand on his shoulder. "Shall I take over?"

Certain that it would be futile, that their priority now should be to get out of here, Actor only nodded and moved aside. As he did so there was movement under his hand. Unwilling to believe it, sure that wish fulfillment was playing tricks with his senses, he released his hold on Chief's head.

This time the man did move, coughing sharply as his eyes opened.

He could not have seen much in the dim moonlight, certainly not enough to recognise his companions. Although he was barely alive, his fingers scrabbled on the cobbles, seeking a weapon. Garrison leaned over him, fairly pushing Actor aside. "Chief, it's the Warden. You're okay. We're all here, and you're free. We'll get you out of here."

"Don't," Chief coughed again, reached weakly for the front of Garrison's jacket, "Expend...able." It was a barely audible whisper.

Garrison nodded. "Yes. We all are. But not 'til I say so. D'you hear me, Chief? We're not giving up on you yet, so don't give up on me."

"What... whatever... y'say... Warden..." His head dropped and the dark eyes closed, but he was still breathing, if shallowly, and his pulse under Actor's fingers was steady.

Knowing that he had done all that he could for Chief, Actor gestured for Casino to take over and pulled Garrison to one side. "He's right," he said. "We should leave him. Find a hospital or a safe-house. We can't risk taking him across France in this condition. Travelling with a wounded man isn't safe."

Garrison looked at him. "You didn't leave me in the hospital in Vouvrai," he pointed out. "Chief didn't leave me."

"We had help..."

"You had four kids, a nun and a dog. Compared with that getting Chief back to that landing field should be simple."

Actor sighed. "Nothing is ever simple. This war isn't simple, Warden..." He got no further. Garrison clearly hadn't heard his last words. He scrambled to his feet with an expression that Actor recognised all too well. "You've got an idea."

"Call it divine inspiration," said Garrison, leaning back against the damp stone that flanked the steps to look up at the dark building above them. "Do you remember what you said about Sister Therese?"

Actor remembered the lie he had told instinctively to protect the novice nun's reputation in Garrison's eyes. He had always suspected that that the Lieutenant had not believed him, but this was no time to bring that up. "That she was a soldier's daughter?"

"That it pays to cover all the angles. Let's see if our credit's still good in high places."

Garrison pulled off his soaked jacket. Against the white of his shirt his face looked paler than ever. He was still shivering, in no fit state to do anything, let alone carry out a dangerous con. Actor looked into his eyes and knew that protest was futile. "All right. But we don't have long. If we don't find somewhere warm and dry for Chief soon there won't be a choice."

"I know." Garrison bounded up the steps.

Actor raised his eyes to the midnight sky and muttered softly. _"Deo gratia..."_

+++

The interior of the cathedral was dark, much darker than the pale moonlight outside and it took Garrison's eyes some time to adapt. However, despite the hour and the curfew, the place was not empty. In the shadows cast by the scattering of votive candles a handful of churchmen moved about their business. The place was quiet, a contrast to the mayhem they had left behind at the quay. Remembering the bodies left bleeding on the cobbles, Garrison realised that his conscience had led him here as much for absolution as sanctuary. He walked across the nave to the north aisle where the row of dark carved booths stood like a train awaiting passengers for eternity. Old wood creaked as he sat and composed himself for the most dangerous moment of their mission. If he failed now more than his life was in jeopardy.

 _"Mon pere, pardonnez moi, pour..."_

The words, even in French, were a childhood ritual, but the confession which followed was a soldier's report. So many lives taken, to weigh against those which might yet be saved; the agents on the list that Casino had retrieved from the _Gestapo_ safe, the sailors who would not now be the targets of U-boat torpedoes, and his own men, waiting in the lee of the cathedral while he gambled their lives on the sanctity of the confessional.

As he finished he heard the priest's indrawn breath, wondered whether it presaged absolution, help or betrayal.

"My son, do you truly seek absolution?"

"I do."

"And something more?"

Garrison looked up sharply, trying to see more than the darkness on the other side of the grille. It was the first part of a Resistance code phrase. He answered, careful of the translation, "No man should fish twice in the same waters, Father."

"At least, not without changing his bait, my son."

It was the right response. Garrison breathed again. "My man is badly wounded, Father. He can't move far without support."

"I understand. I will do what I can. You should leave now. Wait for me by the Shrine of Saint Cecilia, the third pillar in the east aisle."

"Yes. Thank you, Father."

"Thank the Virgin who led you to her place. Now, _me teo absolve..._ "

The words were hurried, but when he left Garrison felt more confident than he had since opening the cell door to release Chief.

+++

The confidence was not dispelled by the efficiency of the two churchmen who eventually joined him in the alcove where a rack of votive candles illuminated a golden statue of the patron Saint of poets. The younger of the pair, a tall thin man with a long nose and bright eyes behind thick lensed glasses who reminded Garrison of a clerical stork, was clearly in charge.

"We can offer sanctuary," he said, "and a contact with a Resistance agent who may be able to help you."

It was more than Garrison had hoped for. He nodded. "I'll get my men."

The priest looked pointedly at the dampness pooling on the mosaic floor at Garrison's feet. "You are cold and wet. The Seine is not a fit river to bathe in, even in high summer. Go with Father Joachim. He will find you dry clothes and some food. I will bring your men to you. Is there a password that they would recognise?"

Garrison thought, suppressing a sneeze. "Ask for Actor. Tell him the Warden sent you."

"In French?"

"In Serbo Croat if you like..." Garrison caught the Priest's puzzled look and relented. "He will understand French, Father."

"I see. A private joke. Now, go into the warm. I will not be long."

+++

"Actor?" The voice was low, interrogative, in an accent that none of them recognised. Goniff and Casino aimed their already drawn guns in the direction of the sound as Actor rose from his position beside the still unconscious Chief.

 _"Oui?"_

A fair-haired man in a priest's vestments moved out of the shadows at the head of the steps. Behind him the arched door was open, silhouetting him against the faint light of a single candle beyond.

 _"Vous etes 'Actor'? J'm'apelle Pere Michael. Le Gardien m'envoyer."_

"What's 'e say, Actor?"

"He says that the Warden sent him."

Goniff was still wary. "Can 'e prove that? Why didn't 'e come hisself?"

The same question had occurred to Actor. He put it to the priest. " _Pardonez-moi, mon Pere.._."

He was halted by a raised hand. "I do understand English. Lieutenant Garrison did not come himself because I insisted that he remain in the warm and get dry before he contracts pneumonia."

Goniff whistled. "You insisted? An' he agreed? Blimey, he must be ill."

"Or a prisoner. Can we trust this guy?" asked Casino.

"He knew my name, and said that he came from the Warden. I don't think that the Lieutenant would suggest using that name if he were under duress."

"He also suggested," said the priest, smiling, "that you might understand if I spoke Serbo Croat. A private joke, I gather?"

"It is. And you have convinced me. We will come with you."

+++

The room the priest led them to was an incongruous mismatch of ancient Gothic and modern convenience which reminded Actor of the English manor house that was their usual residence. The tall leaded windows were blacked out with sacking-covered wooden panels cut to fit the pointed arches. Beneath the broad stone sills stood iron-bound chests too heavy to move, and overhead arched blackened oak beams carved with a riot of foliage and supported on the gilded wings of angels. Illumination for this medieval splendour was provided by a quartet of bare electric light bulbs swinging from a tangle of cables looped over the beams. Thick iron pipes running around the walls and across one end of the room like a modernist altar-rail pumped out enough heat to make Garrison's wet clothes, which were draped across them, steam.

Garrison himself sat in an armchair beside the fat boiler which fed the pipes bundled in an assortment of blankets and mismatched garments. He rose to his feet as they entered, pushing aside a bespectacled civilian who had been leaning over him.

"This is your patient, Doctor," he said, helping Casino and Actor to lay the unconscious Chief on a long table which had been pushed against the heating pipes and covered with more of the grey blankets in preparation.

The man started to protest, "M'sieur, I have not completed my examination of yourself. You will need rest, medication..."

"There's nothing wrong with me that the good Father's soup won't cure, Doctor. My man needs your help now."

Recognising stubborn determination when he saw it the Doctor nodded and moved to Chief's side. He gave a little start of astonishment when he pulled back the remnants of the Indian's clothes to reveal the extent of his injuries. "You said that this man was unconscious when you pulled him from the river? But he has been beaten...tortured..."

"By the _Gestapo_ , yes. And they are still looking for us. Do what you can for him, Doctor. We have to get out of Paris as quickly as possible."

The Doctor shook his head as he worked. "He has broken ribs, burns, probably concussion. The blow that caused these bruises may have damaged his eyes, and there may be other internal injuries. Certainly he will not be able to walk until his feet are healed. He needs a month in hospital before he will even be ready to stand..."

Casino, who had been watching warily while the Doctor worked, broke in, "You're wasting your breath, Doc. We can't stay here for a month. An' the Warden won't leave Chief behind."

Garrison, ladling soup from a pot on the boiler, nodded. "Do what you can for him, Doctor. We'll get him to a hospital. In England."

Actor looked at him sharply as he accepted the hot bowl. "Warden, it would take a miracle..."

"Then we're in the right place." Garrison was grinning.

Actor recognised the signs and sighed. "You've got an idea about how we get out of here. With Chief," he stated.

Goniff, who hadn't missed the exchange, came to join them. "I don't think I'm going to like this," he said.

"Wait 'til you hear about it." Garrison settled himself back into his chair and gestured to Casino to join them. He did so with reluctance and positioned himself so that he could continue to watch the doctor working on Chief. Garrison recognised his uneasiness but did not comment. It was the first time he could remember holding a council of war with his team in a strange place without having the Indian act as lookout. It made them all feel vulnerable.

"While I was waiting for you I had a talk with the priest. One reason why we can move fairly freely in the Cathedral is that they're getting ready for a festival. Tomorrow the statue of Saint Genevieve will be taken in procession to her church near the Porte de Gentilly. It's right on the edge of the city. From there the Resistance can arrange transport back to the coast."

"So we go out with the procession?" Casino sounded dubious. "The Nazis'll still be looking for us, Warden. They'd spot Chief for sure."

"Not if he's part of the procession."

"You're not going to get Chief up as Saint Genevieve," Goniff stated, hopefully.

"Oh I don't know," said Actor, reminiscently. "He makes a very attractive young lady..."

He stopped, seeing Garrison's scowl. "It's not just the Saint they'll be carrying in the procession. I'll show you..." Garrison half rose from his seat, and sneezed. Actor took the opportunity to push him back into the chair.

"Father Michael can show us," he said. "You can wait here and keep an eye on Chief."

The priest forestalled further protest by opening the inner door to the cathedral. "Your man is right, Lieutenant. It is cold in the church. You should stay here in the warm to recover."

Recognising defeat by virtue of superior force, Garrison nodded. "Okay Father. Show them the floats and when you get back we'll discuss how we'll play this."

 

The priest led them through the body of the cathedral to another side chapel, this one still in use, though the statue which normally stood at one side of the altar was now mounted on a platform heaped with flowers and equipped with four handles by which it could be carried at head-height through the streets. In front of it stood two similar platforms, each the length of a man and also heaped with flowers.

"Your invalid can be carried on one of these," said the priest.

Actor looked dubious. "Chief is still breathing," he pointed out.

The priest nodded. "They would usually be heaped solid with offerings, but these are lean times and we must improvise, yes?" He reached under the blossoms on the left hand platform and lifted. The whole of the heap moved aside, revealing that the flowers were merely a shell threaded through a frame of chicken wire. The space beneath was easily large enough to conceal Chief.

Casino let out a long breath. "Guess it's no crazier than anything else the Warden's pulled."

"Yeah," said Goniff, sounding no less pleased. "Let's just hope Chiefy doesn't suffer from hay fever, eh?"

+++

The procession which gathered in the chapel the next morning was a small and very subdued one. Actor had been remembering the riotous Italian festivals of his youth where the streets were thronged so tightly with people that you did not need the skill of a professional like Goniff to steal a wallet (or a kiss from a pretty girl). Now he wondered for the first time whether this was such a good idea. Actor did not know whether Garrison had gained his own impression of such festivals from experience or from the newsreels, but he seemed to be equally put out by the size of the party. Only Chief, supine on the catafalque under the canopy of flowers which concealed him completely, seemed to have confidence in the plan.

"Just don't you guys drop me, okay?"

Garrison grinned, as much with relief at this evidence of Chief's slow recovery as in reassurance. "You won't know you're moving. Just lie back and enjoy the ride."

For answer Chief closed his eyes.

"Yeah," said Casino, taking one of the handles, "An' don't do any backseat driving."

Above them the chimes of the cathedral clock heralded the start of the procession. Under the direction of Father Michael they moved out of the chapel and into the streets of Paris.

+++

The route was lined not only with the citizens of Paris, but with a distressingly high number of German soldiers and French police. Fortunately the priest had been able to provide nondescript working clothes for all of them and anyone looking for five men in the tattered garments that they had been wearing last night would have been hard put to recognise these clean, honest citizens. Actor, the most easily identifiable of the party, had somehow managed to retain the basics of his makeup kit throughout the caper and had contrived to dye his hair to a pepper and salt grey. The heavy walking stick on which he leaned to reduce his height added to the illusion of age.

It was as well that he had. They were within sight of their destination when fate, in the shape of an overly zealous German soldier, betrayed them.

Perhaps it was the obviously greater weight of the second flower-strewn platform that attracted his attention, or perhaps he wanted only to make an offering of his own - others had thrown additional blossoms onto the pile as they passed - but his expression, determined and bullish, and the way he levelled his bayoneted rifle at the heaped flowers as he commanded them to stop, made it unlikely.

As the soldier approached the catafalque Actor staggered forward, brandishing his walking stick and complaining in voluble French and an accent so rural that the only distinguishable word was 'sacrilegious'. The soldier turned, exasperated, to brush this old fool aside, and somehow his legs became entangled in the stick and he fell to the ground.

A more experienced soldier would have recognised the mood of the crowd and let the incident pass, perhaps marking out some of the group for surveillance and arrest later. This soldier was not, however, experienced. He lurched back onto his feet, cocking the rifle. "You clumsy old fool. You're under arrest." He reached for Actor's shoulder, intending to pull him out of the crowd. Before he could take control he was felled from behind by a garlanded pole. For the second time in as many minutes he hit the ground. This time he didn't get up.

Actor's cry of sacrilege had been taken up by the whole crowd and now they surged around the procession, overwhelming the military escort to provide an honour guard for the saint and her floral tribute. The festival was no longer the discrete, sober event which the authorities (and Garrison) had anticipated. In the grey days of shortages caused by the war, and fear caused by the occupation, Parisians had very little opportunity to celebrate and now they took full advantage.

Garrison held grimly to the handle of the catafalque as a dozen other hands helped to bear the weight. He looked frantically around to check the others. Goniff was grinning happily, affected by the mood of the crowd and delighted by the discomfiture of the military escort. Casino bore an 'I told you so' scowl but, like Goniff, had not lost his grip on the platform. And Actor... Actor was nowhere in sight. Had he got lost in the crowd or had he slipped away on an errand of his own? He was perfectly capable of it, damn him. And that disguise wouldn't fool anyone who knew him and was looking for him. Or worse, had someone with more sense than the discomforted soldier made a quiet arrest?

It was too late for him to go in search of his lost sheep. The Chapel of St. Genevieve lay ahead of them.

+++

Garrison wondered for a moment if they would ever be able to get free of the crowds. His prayers were answered when a small, dark man emerged from the shadows of the porch of the little church and, using the authority of his cloth, calmed the revellers enough to let Garrison and his men get their burden inside. The first platform remained in the forecourt. Garrison caught a glimpse of the saint serenely rising above the throng and the little priest beginning a formal ceremony of dedication in her shadow before the double doors closed, leaving them in candle-lit darkness.

Predictably it was Casino who spoke first. At least, Garrison thought, as the cracksman rounded on him, he'd put the platform down first.

"I always said you couldn't trust that Actor." he snorted.

Goniff was less certain. "Do you reckon he's skipped, Warden?"

Garrison rubbed a hand over his eyes. It had been a long day. Everything had gone wrong with this mission. Had he saved one of his team members only to lose another? He'd trusted Actor to handle missions alone before now, and that trust had been rewarded. But this was Paris. The man had friends here... and knew the city far too well. He shook his head. "I don't know," he admitted. "Let's get Chief comfortable. We have to wait for our transport to arrive. If Actor's not back in an hour I'll go looking."

"Would he leave?" Goniff looked across at Garrison, though it was Casino who responded.

"I never could figure why he stayed "

The cat burglar shrugged. "Yeah, well, maybe it’s like he said. He likes a gamble." He made to stub out his cigarette on the head of a carved cherub, stopped himself and crushed the end in his fingers. "Maybe he found odds he liked better."

"Yeah, or some dame..." Casino would have enlarged on this theme if a warning hiss from Chief had not stopped him. Garrison, who had ignored the bickering of the two men, responded at once, crossing the room to lay a hand on the injured man’s shoulder. "Are you..." he began.

"Someone’s comin’." It was a whisper, but a convincing one. The Indian had not recovered from his ordeal, but his hearing was as sharp as ever and all three men responded with the ease of long familiarity with the accuracy of Chief’s warnings. Seconds later they all heard the footfalls and by the time the door opened three guns were covering it.

They had half expected to see Actor, but the man who followed him in prompted an oath from Casino that was quite unsuited to that consecrated ground.

"You..."

It was Jacques Corot, the thief who had run out on them the day before. Casino, remembering how the man had given them the slip, cocked his gun and rested the muzzle under the thief's ear before questioning his companion. "Actor, where d’you find him?"

"He found me. He recognised a _Gestapo_ man in the crowd who was taking an interest, so we took him for a short trip before coming back here. And you can put the gun away, Casino. According to Jacques, he’s our Resistance contact."

"Yeah?" Casino made no move to obey Instead he looked across to Garrison. "You believe him?"

Quietly, Garrison rose to his feet and moved to stand in front of the thief. "I don't know," he said, softly. "You've convinced Actor. Now convince me."

"I..." the man swallowed nervously, and gestured to the priest. "Father Michael will vouch for me. And there will be a message, on the BBC at six o'clock. If they say that " _James promises to send violets to Anita for her birthday_ " you will know that an aeroplane pick up has been arranged."

Garrison glanced at the priest. "Do you have a radio?"

"Of course."

"Okay." The Lieutenant turned back to the thief. "You've got plenty of time to tell us exactly why you ran out on us earlier."

"That is simple, M'sieur. I had to contact my cell. I needed to check up on you, Actor. I know you. When could your word ever be trusted, eh?"

The conman glanced at Garrison, who shook his head. This was no time for philosophical argument. Instead - "I trust him," he said. "And are you going to give us a reason to trust you?"

"Yeah," added Casino. "You ran out on us, remember? How do we know we can trust you now?"

"I had reasons. Why should I trust you, eh? I know Actor. I know about the German Fraulein Gerda Mueller. Her father is the local head of the Gestapo now. Perhaps she has persuaded her lover to work for them also? So I ran. I tell what I know to _La Resistance_ and they say Lieutenant Garrison's men can be trusted..."

Goniff was looking at Actor with an expression compounded half of shock and half of admiration. "You were screwing the _Gestapo_ Kommandant's daughter!? I always said you 'ad nerve, mate."

Actor shrugged. "Mueller is a common enough name. And she was a very pretty girl."

"Not as pretty as my Susanne," the thief snapped.

Unconcerned by the violence of his reaction Actor took a long drag on his pipe. "Your Susanne was making eyes at that brainless bank clerk - what was his name? Marcelle... Honaire Marcelle - whatever happened to him?"

"She married him. After the trial. She never believed that talk of him giving the keys to the bank robbers."

"Oh, he didn't." Actor paused for long enough to blow a smoke ring before adding: "She did..."

Garrison, who had been following the exchange with the mesmerised fascination of a spectator at a Wimbledon final, decided that it was time to intervene before murder was done. "There'll be time for reminiscences later. Our job now is to get out of here. Jacques, you said something about a plane?"

"Tomorrow a plane will be dropping some supplies and advisers at a farm a few kilometres outside Paris. We have made arrangements to take you there."

"I've got a man injured who'll have to be moved carefully. We'll need a truck, something big enough to take a stretcher..."

Jacques grinned. "There is no problem. The vehicle will be quite large enough, and quite safe."

"There will be checkpoints on the Paris roads," Actor pointed out. "The Germans will be searching everything."

"Not this," said the Frenchman, confidently. "Be ready at four o'clock. I will bring the transport then."

+++

"You're not gonna trust that little rat?" Casino asked when the man had gone.

Garrison looked at Actor. "I don't think we have a choice. He is Resistance and he's offered us a way home. The BBC broadcast confirmed it. What do you think?"

"I think that we take it," said Actor, "but we keep our guns handy."

"You said it," Goniff agreed, spinning his Colt on his finger before holstering it. "You gonna tell us about this bank job, Actor?"

"No," said the tall man, stretching out on the bench and pulling his coat over him. "I am going to get some sleep. It's been a long night and we've got another one coming up."

Garrison nodded and leaned back on his own bench, closing his eyes. "Amen to that."

+++

The little church was in a quiet part of town not much frequented during the day. Despite the danger of sudden searches the team was able to snatch some sleep overnight and spend the next morning helping the priest to clean up the festival debris and tending Chief. They were disturbed at about four o'clock, by the sound of a heavy engine pulling up in the street outside. Casino was first to the door.

"Is that our transport?" Garrison asked, swinging his feet to the floor.

"Yeah, an' you ain't gonna believe this, Warden."

"Believe what?" Garrison joined him at the lancet window to look down on the foreshortened view below. He was not as familiar as the cracksman with goods vehicles so it took him a few moments to identify the bulky shape drawn up outside, with a huddle of German officers clustered around a long casket being decanted from the vehicle. When he did, he shared Casino's amusement.

"It's a security van."

"Yeah. That Jacques did say his sister's married to a bank clerk. An' if the papers are right no-one's gonna search that."

"The papers are right." Jacques slipped into the room and handed a sheaf of official documents to Actor. "They're authentic. Authority from Herr Mueller to transport the reliquary of St. Genevieve to Switzerland for safekeeping."

"Safe kept in the private collection of Herr Mueller?" suggested Garrison dryly, remembering the fate of another art object which had ended up in German hands 'for protection'. Judging from the size of that casket though the reliquary was a good deal larger than the Van Loon painting that had caused them so many problems a few months ago.

"So the Kommandant believes," confirmed Jacques. "He is inspecting the packaging and affixing the seals now. Once the case is loaded and he has left we will substitute your friend for the reliquary and you will be able to drive out past the checkpoints with no trouble."

"And the reliquary?" Asked Actor.

"Will stay safe on French soil, or rather, in it, until the war is over."

+++

Surprisingly the transfer went as smoothly as Jacques had predicted and, within an hour, they had passed through the last road block on the Paris road. Despite his comments about the French thief Garrison was relieved when, at a deserted point on the road, Jacques relinquished the wheel to Casino and took his leave of them, handing Garrison a marked map and complicated directions for reaching the rendevous.

"They will expect you in an hour," he said. "Don't be late."

"No way," said Casino, putting the vehicle into gear. "You coming, Warden?"

With a final farewell to Jacques, Garrison climbed into the back of the van and gave the cracksman the order to move.

They were all relieved to be clear of the city, and together again as a team. Even Chief, lying bundled in blankets on his stretcher, was sleeping easily, his breathing deep and even. Garrison took his place beside the Indian, allowing himself the luxury of a half-doze as Casino drove smoothly along the deserted French back roads.

He was awoken from his reverie by a soft word from the man on the stretcher. "Warden?"

It was faint but Garrison responded, leaning across to listen. "It’s not far now. How are you feeling?"

"Better. The clock woke me.."

"Clock?" Garrison turned to Goniff, giving him a look that spoke volumes. "Have you been shopping for your mum again, Goniff?"

The thief spread his hands, revealing nothing. "Warden, when’ve I had time, eh? You think I’d steal from a church?"

"I think you’d steal from the Pope if you thought you could get away with it," commented Actor.

Garrison shushed him. "So what did wake you, Chief?"

"I c’n hear something ticking..."

"Where?" Garrison's voice was urgent. The others in the van had not missed the significance of the exchange. Goniff was gathering together their meagre baggage without waiting for Chief’s reply.

"Under me..."

The stretcher was resting on the long and supposedly empty box that should have housed the reliquary, and might contain something far more dangerous.

Goniff looked at Actor. "Bomb?" he mouthed.

Garrison slapped a hand on the partition with the cab, and was rewarded with a jerk of brakes and a protest from Casino as the vehicle drew to a halt.

"Out," said Garrison, swinging open the rear doors and taking the head of the stretcher, leaving Actor to take the foot. Goniff threw the rest of their belongings to Casino who had abandoned the driver's seat as soon as the door had opened.

"What's going on?"

"That lousy thief left us a present," said Goniff, shouldering his own pack to follow the stretcher party at a dead run.

Casino joined him. "You sure?" he asked.

The question was drowned by the crash of the explosion. Casino and Goniff hurled themselves the last few yards into the shelter of a ditch as one of the van doors, blown free of its hinges, sailed over their heads to crash into the field beyond.

"I'm sure." said Goniff, when the ringing in his ears had stopped.

Beside him Garrison glanced at his watch. "I don't think it was meant for us," he said. "Right about now that parcel was due to be delivered to the head of the Gestapo's country home."

"Great," said Casino. "Doesn't no one in this damn country talk to each other? We could've been killed."

"I think somebody left us out of their plans. Let's hope the Germans do too. Goniff, you got that map?"

The thief extracted the much-thumbed document from the top of a pack and handed it across. Four heads bent over it.

"Three miles," said Actor. "We'll need more transport."

Garrison shook his head. "We've got twenty minutes," he said. "It must be at least a mile to the nearest farm. By the time we've found a truck and got back to pick up Chief the plane'll be long gone."

"So whadda we do?" asked Casino.

"Yeah," added Goniff. "There's no way we're going to be able to carry Chiefy that far in the time."

Garrison nodded and rose to his feet, surveying the surrounding countryside. Behind him the fire cast streamers of orange light across the twilit landscape. "I guess we'll have to persuade the mountain to come to Mohammed," he said.

Actor glanced at the others with an expression that spoke volumes. Before he could make a comment the Indian stopped him with a barely perceptible headshake.

"Listen.."

Seconds later they all heard it, the low drone of an aircraft engine.

"One of ours?" asked Goniff.

Garrison motioned them to silence. His own head was cocked now, listening. "It's just one. Too low and light for a bomber. I think, gentlemen, that that's our ride."

"Great. He'll've bin an' gone before we get there."

"Not if we're quick." Garrison was on his feet, racing for the burning vehicle. As he reached it he thrust the rolled map into the flames, turned, and ran for the gate of the nearby field, holding the improvised torch aloft.

Deducing his intent, Actor was not far behind, lighting a branch ripped from the hedge in similar fashion before making for the opposite corner of the field. Overhead they heard the plane circle as the pilot took a bearing on the three points of fire that marked a safe landing site.

Goniff and Casino, left with the stretcher, watched with mixed horror and admiration.

"Hope the Warden know's what he's doing," the cracksman muttered, as the plane skipped over the hedgerows.

The plane's navigator was clearly thinking along similar lines. His first words as he dropped the hatch open were scathing. "You fellows cut it fine don't you? We nearly missed your signal. Had a map reference for a couple of points further north."

Garrison grinned up at him. "We liked this field better," he said.

The pilot, who had heard him above the sound of the still-running engines, swore over his shoulder. "Jeeze, you ground bugs think we can put these things down on a sixpence," he complained. "Don't suppose it occurred t'you that we might want to take off again?"

"You've got room," Garrison assured him, with all the confidence of a man who had flown bigger planes out of smaller fields for recreation.

The navigator snorted his derision and dropped the steps to allow Goniff and Casino to heave their burden aboard.

While the team strapped themselves in, prepared for a bumpier than usual take off, Garrison moved up front to point out the exit route he had spotted to the pilot. Ten minutes later, after a certain amount of juggling through which Casino had sat with both eyes tight shut and his fingers white on the edge of his seat, they were airborne.

As Garrison rejoined them, Actor leaned across to offer the cracksman his hipflask. "I told you the Warden would do it," he said.

Casino wiped his lips and handed the flask on to Garrison. Now that they were free of the mission there was clearly something else on his mind. "Warden?"

"Yes, Casino?"

"These sealed orders - they're gonna confuse the Kraut warships, right?"

Garrison nodded. "That's the idea, yes. What's the problem?"

The cracksman shook his head. "Nothing I guess. Just, next time we come over on a mission - can we fly?"

There was a stunned silence as four pairs of eyes focused on Casino. Garrison took a deep breath. "If that's what you want, Casino. I'll try to arrange it. And a soft landing."

Laughter echoed through the plane.

 

~ END~


End file.
